Collective Intelligence

- S. Nocturne

Collective Intelligence

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Desmond Loyd had dreamed of working for the Central Intelligence Agency for the longest time, as long as he could remember in fact. His earliest memories were reminiscing of mapping out territories, profiling his classmates and teachers, and delving deep into the most heinous covert operations.

Typically, it was only discovering who had taken someone's lunch money or where his parents were hiding the Christmas presents. His lifelong dream of becoming an agent had finally taken a turn for the better when he found himself not only scouted for recruitment, but offered a once in a lifetime opportunity shortly after completing his Bachelor's degree in Criminal Justice.

He arrived promptly at the quaint little diner in downtown Santa Fe. Just before midnight seemed an expressively unusual time for anyone to meet, but nevertheless, Desmond was there just as requested. He'd pulled out all the stops. His dark hair was combed back and gelled into neat waves, lacking the typical five o' clock shadow he had come to permanently live with when devoted to his studies through college. He was a handsome young man; he knew it with no ego or vanity. It was simple genetics; he was the product of good breeding, which contributed to an impressive height and a symmetrical facial structure, including a strong jawline and full lips.

His deep, brown doe eyes, with their long thick lashes and thick, dark brows held a glimmer of nervousness as he straightened his tie. He checked his neat white teeth in the little mirror beneath the sun-shade of his old, black Ford Mustang. It was a gift from his grandfather shortly after his sixteenth birthday--and really, it was a wonder the fucking thing still ran, with how old it was.

With a deep breath, he nodded his head, and stepped from the vehicle looking the image of rogue, clandestine operative in his crisp, fitted black suit with his polished oxford loafers. He was certain he didn't feel anywhere near as good as he looked, entering the quiet diner, and drawing every pair of eyes in the nearest radius--particularly that of the overnight waitress.

She was an older woman, yes, but she was quite pretty in every sense of the word; a slim brunette with crystal blue eyes and bright red lipstick on. She beamed at him positively as he entered, taking a moment to admire the well dressed young man as he strolled his way knowingly toward the back booth, where the Deputy Director of Operations waited for him.

"Right on time. I appreciate a man who's punctual... Deputy Director Carter—nice to meet you, son."

"Desmond Loyd, it's great to meet you, sir." He shook the man's hand with a strong grasp before being seated just across from him. Deputy Director Carter wasn't the image he had in his mind when he received the phone call.

He was expecting a man perhaps three times his size, judging on the basis of his voice over the phone, who was the mirror image of Agent 007--suave, charming and dressed similar to his own attire. While yes, Carter's color scheme was dark, his suit was worn and he was an exceptionally plump man who's belly was likely well earned from several years of a merry relationship with cheap beer. His hair was dark and thick, and his eyes ever so beady beneath his bushy brows, with an equally bushy mustache just above a plump red nose. He peered at him over the thick black rims of his spectacles and nodded his head.

"Tell ya what son, if I looked half as good as you in a suit, I sure as hell wouldn't be trying to get in with the Feds. But nevermind that. I hear you aced the entrance exam. I'd like to hear more about what your hopes and goals are with the agency."

"Well, sir... it's always been a passion of mine. My grandfather was FBI. My father's a sheriff out in Sandoval County. Hell, even my Ma works dispatch for the Albuquerque Police Department."

"I get the gist. Runs in the family huh? Good stock, then... good, damn good."

"Evening boys. What can I getcha tonight?" The waitress brought water, setting them down before fishing a small notepad from the depths of her half apron. She smoothed the waist of her pale pink dress before slowly reaching for the pen, just tucked at her collar, tugging loose a few buttons quite intentionally in the process as she did so. Oh, she was certainly prettier up close, even if Desmond was certain she had to be nearly old enough to be his mother. He smoothed a hand back through his dark hair as he settled into the booth, fighting back the nervous flush over his cheeks. He looked to the waitress who offered a sly smile to Desmond, and then turned her eyes to Director Carter.

"Coffee, black, would be just fine darlin'. How about you, my boy?"

"Oh... um--coffee is fine for me, too. Thank you m'am." He smiled politely, and set his attention back upon Director Carter who observed him with attentive clarity as the flirtatious older woman beamed at them both, and nodded her head.

"My pleasure. Hold tight." She turned, sashaying away with all the seductive prowess of a cougar on the hunt, and Director Carter only chuckled at Desmond's focused resolve. He hadn't watched after her swaying hips enough to notice her delightful pear shape, no, not tempted in the slightest at a glance. He hadn't batted an eye at her buttons popping, exposing the slightest edge of her pastel pink bra beneath and her shapely cleavage. These were all exceptionally positive signs, especially from a handsome, young, certainly vigorous specimen like Desmond. He'd do just fine.

"What d'you know about Roswell, son?"

Desmond blinked a few times in surprise, not at all expecting such a location to come up while screening for the CIA. He was certainly hopeful for Washington, New York--San Francisco perhaps... or something even more exciting--Langley Headquarters in Virginia. But Roswell? It was practically in his backyard. Not only that, but the rumors circulating around it were largely fictitious and over exaggerated. He was almost certain the bunkers at Roswell were where pencil pushers thrived and old agents went to fade away as retirees doing light work. Boring work.

"Only what pops up on the television, sir. I heard the public tried to storm it a year or two back in hopes of freeing Cthulhu, or Poseidon or... getting Pokemon, or something like that?"

"Nothin' about extraterrestrials? Well that's unusual." The Director laughed heartily, and looked up as the waitress returned with two mugs in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other. Carter could've sworn she lost another button, he could damn near see down her shirt when she leaned over the table with great exaggeration to pour freshly brewed coffee into either cup.

"Can I get you anything else, hon? Milk? ...Sugar?" Oh, she was flirting now, there was no doubt about it. Desmond looked at her with his most polite smile, and raised the mug in a cheer to her before taking a sip of the rich Colombian roast and nodding his head graciously.

"No ma'am, black is just fine. Thank you kindly."

She beamed at him and tilted her head with a vampish grin, taking a few mental snapshots of the handsome young man, before turning around and bouncing back behind the counter with her coffee pot in hand.

"I'll tell you what son. There's a lot more to Roswell than you'd expect. I think you're just the kind of man we need on the research team over that way." Desmond's eyes lit up as the Director brought his own mug to his lips and took a deep drink from the cup, his expression becoming quite stern as he set his eyes upon him once again. "You seem like you've got your head on straight--we need somebody with nerves of steel for this assignment. Are you ready to sign on?"

"Yes, sir--T-Thank you, sir... you won't regret it."

"Great. Then let's get going." Director Carter took a deep drink from his mug, noting Desmond's look of certain surprise at the sudden proclamation that he'd be starting today--tonight. Right now. He was taken aback, clearly, but he certainly didn't think to argue. He fished his wallet from the pocket of his slacks, and carefully drew out a few bills including an ample tip for the pretty, older waitress. He left them on the table as Director Carter moved to stand quickly as he suggested they take their leave.

The drive felt as if it took far longer than a mere three hours. They hadn't come anywhere near Roswell, itself. They made their way far down highway 285, but before they had quite made it into the city, they detoured from the highway into the desert...

Again, it was something Des had expected. There certainly wouldn't be any top secret facilities sitting in the middle of the city easily accessible by the public. The sky was dark, and littered in what looked like a million stars. He'd taken his coffee to go to stave off his fatigue as the late evening hours slowly shifted over into early morning hours.

As they rolled down a rough dirt road, things like cactus and tumbleweeds became fewer and farther between. Des could just make out a curious structure up ahead. It was a tall building of unassuming appearances. The closer they came to it, with its single bright flood light shining onto an empty lot, the more he realized it was only an old, steel hay barn. You could see clearly that it hadn't been used for any actual storage in years. The dilapidated fencing that stretched out into dry, dead earth suggested that it might have been a little farm, a very long time ago.

The black government SUV slowed to a stop just ahead of him, and he parked just beside Director Carter's vehicle. The bubbling rise of a million questions were stifled for the moment as the older man led way into the domed hay barn, and moved to the very center of it.

"Here we are. Not afraid of heights are you?"

Desmond shook his head slowly as he came to stand beside Director Carter, smothering down the impulsive certainty of feeling incredibly foolish right now. All at sudden, without any warning at all, the dusty floor beneath them began to shift. The whirring of the mechanism lowering the platform they stood on down into the ground caused his eyes to widen a bit. He almost reached for the other man to brace himself as the solid circular platform began to sink into the depths of... well, wherever they were headed--he wasn't certain.

They were plunged into darkness. He looked above to see some manner of heavy steel plate slowly sealing over the opening above them as they descended down into darkness, and a soft glow of lights began to appear on the platform in slow increments of a tight clockwise circle. He counted them as the unexpected elevator continued its leisurely descent. He could only assume for every glowing orb that appeared, they had cleared at least one story into the depths of the structure hidden beneath the barn.

He counted eighteen when the entire circle was made full, and the lift finally came to stop. If one were to drop a pin, he was almost certain it would echo for eternity up the entire height of the unexpected elevator shaft. To the right of them, the walls seemed to open up, allowing a first look at what Des was absolutely sure was the long rumored top-secret facility for Intelligence here at Roswell...

To be honest, even he had thought it was always a myth.

"You know... we technically aren't the CIA--we're a ghost branch, well trusted affiliates who vet rookie-agents. I like to think our program is a step above. If you can make it here you'll be able to make it anywhere." Director Carter led the way, his worn leather loafers were quiet down the polished black hall. The design of the wide hall was immaculate. There were several doors as they walked, and Desmond could only guess what lay within them. It was eerily silent.

What he did notice were the harsh fluorescents that illuminated the hall by motion capture, and the security domes nestled in every corner. The end of this hall split into two, and they hung a right and stepped through a set of automatic doors, activated with what appeared to be both a key card and infrared retina scanner.

"We've got you onboarded already, for the most part. No need to fill out all the paperwork. Just need a few additional things; fingerprints, eye scans, etcetera. For now, we'll head right in to meet the team."

"Yes, sir... uhm, if it's not too much trouble, sir... am I allowed to ask about the assignment at all?"

"The Head of your Team can brief you on the specs. I'm just running recruitment. Can't seem to keep anyone on board for longer than a week or so before we've got to reassign them. I'll tell you what, Des... you keep that focus and steel reserve and you'll do just fine here. It's a quiet job, an easy foot in the door. We'll have you move on to bigger and better things in no time." Director Carter stopped before a set of wide double doors down that still immaculate and sterile black hall, nodding to the doors.

"Head on in then, son. You'll be on the graveyard shift--ask for the grand tour. Good to have you aboard."

Director Carter turned on his heel and disappeared back down the empty halls, leaving Desmond to feel incredibly uncomfortable faced with the prospect of introducing himself to a new set of co-workers. It had all happened so fast. He stared at the doors ahead of him now with a nervous flutter in the pit of his stomach, and reached out slowly, only for the doors to slide open just before him. Clearly someone had been observing the interaction just beyond.

"Hey... new guy! Welcome!"

Now, this guy looked more like what he was expecting of an intelligence agent. Standing just on the other side of the doors in a tailor made suit was a tall, lanky blonde, who looked perhaps only a few years older than he was. Scattered about the very large and official room were an assortment of faces--most of which were either equally well dressed, or wearing some manner of lab-coat and protective gear. To the far right was a massive glass tunnel with an impeccably foreboding looking vault-style door, leading into what appeared to be an equally massive glass room of unassuming design. It almost looked like someone's extremely minimalistic bedroom. If he didn't know any better, it was.

"Welcome to Project Hive. I'm Agent Bernard. I'm guessing you'd like to know why you're here... you want the long or the short of it?"

"Tell me everything." Des couldn't help but to grin now, tucking his hands slowly into the pockets of his outer coat as the man turned promptly, and led him into the laboratory. The doors closed rapidly behind them, and Agent Bernard gestured around the room to the few well dressed individuals, who Desmond couldn't help but notice were armed.

"Agents Renfield and Black. They're both from across the way, over at Langley. They're working security details on this assignment. Over there is Dr. Morgan Wells, Dr. Felicity Hawk and Dr. Caleb Sprouse. They oversee the vitals, testing, monitoring and wellbeing of EB #091783."

"...EB?"

"Extraterrestrial Being. We call it Nine." He nodded toward the solid glass containment room at the back of the laboratory far too casually, and Desmond's eyes went wide. He glanced off to what now appeared very much to him as a gilded prison, and then back to Bernard.

"...You're serious? Where is it?"

"Well, in the bath, more than likely. Real particular about its routines. It'll be out in a bit. In the meantime, let's take a walk around the facility. There's eighteen stories... we're the only ones allowed on this level. There's all manner of technology and research being done here at Roswell. Project Hive is one of many. Our team is researching and studying Nine in hopes of finding a practical use for some of its abilities... in this particular case 'collective intelligence.' You know what that means?"

Desmond shook his head as he walked back through the heavy metal doors, following along after Agent Bernard to the opposite end of the hall. The doors slid open again as they moved to stand just before them, leading into what appeared to be a rather charming café--a mess hall of sorts. There were sparse inhabitants. Bernard started to the left from there down a curving hall which led on to yet another unoccupied room designated for fitness.

"EB #091783 has the ability to convert those it comes into contact with into its collective... it's a hive mind. It can share its knowledge, thoughts, emotions and intentions through a unique neurolink with those it brings into its collective."

"That's... amazing, wow. How was it discovered?" Agent Bernard frowned, never once stopping to explain the areas they moved through as they looped once again through the researchers barracks, ending in the final room--the sleeping pods. There were several rows of bunk beds, enough to house sixteen individuals comfortably. It was unsurprising to see that several had been claimed already. The twenty minute descent into the research bunker alone was probably enough to discourage anyone from wanting to head back to the surface.

"I'll point you to that file when we get you into the system. Hope you like reading, the document is massive. You know why you're here?"

"Director Carter only mentioned he needed a recruit with a solid mentality on the assignment." Agent Bernard smiled at that, and nodded his head gently.

"He wasn't wrong. Right now, you're 'extra relief'. I've been overseeing this assignment for two months now. The main researcher is out, on account of illness... and I can't lie... it's really starting to wear me down. Can't remember the last time I saw the sun. I think just being around it does things to you. So we're bringing you on for the overnight shift. It's really simple: all you've got to do is feed it the evening meal, and monitor it while the lab coats are sleeping to make sure it isn't doing anything it isn't supposed to. Either Black or Renfield will always be on call in the barracks. They alternate the overnight shift through the week... but for the most part, it's just gonna be you and the EB after everyone leaves for the night. You think you're up for that?"

"Sounds like the easiest job I've ever had."

"Yeah, you'd think... Just, you know, take care of yourself while you're here. Like I said. Being around it does something to people." Agent Bernard gestured to the sleeping pods, "Well, here's home for the next six months, unless you want to get set up in a rental out in Roswell. If you make it through, you'll be transferred out with outstanding recommendations. There isn't an easier way to start your career with the CIA. Guess all that's left is to meet Nine."

They closed the tour of the researcher's wing at long last, and made their way down the quiet empty hall, back into the laboratory. The armed agents had moved from their places of leisure over toward the long row of electronic stations and desks, between tables of medical and research equipment. They into the containment chamber with shameless abandon.

From the moment Desmond stepped into the room he felt a shift in the energy there. It felt... heavy. It was hard to describe. The researchers had taken to wearing fully domed masks over their heads, and paid little mind to the creature inside the glass room... but every pair of unprotected eyes in the room were drawn like magnets to the being within.